


I'll Give You Anything (But Love)

by CatAvalon (CazinaIna)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M, Post-Break Up, Public Sex, Rebound Sex, Shower Sex, Top Georgi Popovich, sad sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 09:37:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16365392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CazinaIna/pseuds/CatAvalon
Summary: There’s a smile on his face, a ghost of what he’d seen earlier, but so incredibly somber, and Georgi knows. He knows Viktor feels it too, the sickness of solitude, even if it’s in a different, equally as bitter form.“I want to feel something, Georgi,” Viktor says, and there’s a hopelessness to his voice, to the way his nails dig into Georgi’s flesh, clinging to him. “Don’t you?”





	I'll Give You Anything (But Love)

“You’re done for the day, Gosha.” 

The words don’t really hit him until Yakov’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, guiding him to the rink’s edge. He can’t do anything right anymore. Can’t skate. Can’t follow instructions. Can’t keep a fucking  _ girlfriend _ . Everything inside him collectively aches, but his mind is a chasm echoing the drone of Yakov’s voice, and he can’t feel anything at all, not really.

From the corner of his eye, Georgi can see Viktor soaring across the ice, building up speed and taking off into his signature quad flip. It’s beautiful, breathtaking, Georgi’s lungs hurt with the air he holds within them. When Viktor lands, Georgi’s still suspended above the ice, hanging on the heartstrings that are wrapped so tightly around his throat.

“Georgi,” Yakov says softly, and there’s a tenderness smoothing across his face. Slowly, he pushes his breath out between gritted teeth, and allows his coach to look upon him with sympathy. “Take a break. Take some time for yourself and come back fighting tomorrow.”

The last thing he needs is time for himself he thinks as he steps out onto the concrete, worrying his lip between his teeth. Being at the rink, being around people, at least provided him with a distraction, takes his mind off of long, ebony hair and brilliant blue eyes, smiling as they told him he  _ wasn’t good enough _ . 

He’s  _ never _ good enough.

And now he’s left drowning in his thoughts, without the ice to freeze them or the fire of Yakov’s frustration to burn them. Heaving a sigh, he snaps his skate guards into place and collapses onto a bench, tugging at his laces in a way that makes the knots tighter rather than actually undoing them. Cursing under his breath, Georgi stops and allows his fingers to stop trembling before he finally manages to get his skates off, unceremoniously dumping them in his kit bag before slinging it over his shoulder. Viktor passes close to the border again, gracefully twizzling, silver hair floating with the same amount of elegant expression as his hands. Their eyes meet for a second, and the serenity on Viktor’s face morphs into acknowledgement, and there’s the barest hint of a smile before he turns again and drifts away.

_ Pity _ . It has to be, because Viktor rarely smiles, and when he does it’s that blindingly bright beam that competes with the flash of camera bulbs and is just as synthetic. The last thing Georgi needs is sympathy from someone who has everything.

The locker rooms are empty, which is unsurprising considering it’s only mid-morning, and anyone else who isn’t a moping, melodramatic mess is still allowed to be working. Georgi rakes a hand through his hair, turns to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he does so, and falters. Ashen, withered,  wilting, with bruising under his eyes as if  _ she’d  _  smoothed her fingers beneath them, the purple polish from her nails seeping into his skin.

Georgi’s fingers tighten at the roots, tugging,  _ tugging _ until a sharp stab of pain breaks through the numbness and shatters the glassiness of his eyes.

_ Stop it _ . He doesn’t know if he’s said it out loud, but the syllables ricochet through his head, shiver through his bones until his chest aches. He’s not going to cry, not again, not here where anyone could find him. Allowing himself one staggering breath, Georgi methodically strips from his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor as he heads towards the showers.

The water always takes forever to heat up, but Georgi finds himself standing under the icy spray anyway. He likes to think that his shuddering is from the cold that pelts into his back, but deep down he knows the dark bitter truth. Ignoring it is the only thing he can do as he scrapes his nails over his scalp, washing away the sweat and regret that coats his skin like a curse.

There’s a mark on Georgi’s chest, just above his heart, a mottled yellowing thing in the perfect shape of her mouth. Georgi prods at it and frowns, finding it still tender, the memory of her touch tender too as he closes his eyes and imagines her hovering before him, lips trailing over his skin like the drops of water,  going down, dragging him down,  _ down- _

“Mind if I join you?”

Georgi jolts, quickly turning to face the shower wall to hide the half hardness beginning to stir between his legs. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the ice?”

“Aren’t you?” Viktor always has a way of turning contemplation into condescending, and Georgi feels his cheeks heat with embarrassment. “You looked like you could use the company, and Yasha agreed with me.”

“How very thoughtful of you,” Georgi grits out between his teeth, scrubbing at his skin briskly and shutting the water off with a metallic  _ clack _ . “I am, in fact, perfectly fine with my own company.”

“Oh I did see that.” When Georgi hazards Viktor a glance, he’s still standing in the doorway, eyes roaming over the naked expanse of his body.  _ Of course he fucking did.  _ His arms are folded over his chest, hip cocked against the tile as he gauges Georgi’s reaction, perfectly comfortable in his own nudity. “Please, don’t stop on my account.”

Georgi doesn’t even entertain him with a response, choosing to instead stride past him, head held as high as he can in the face of perfection personified. A slender hand reaches to clasp his bicep, the grip tight but not unbreakable. Georgi closes his eyes, counts to three, before uttering, “What, Vitya?”

“Have you ever considered being with a man?” There’s an innocence to Viktor’s voice, as if he’s asked something simple like  _ have you considered eating brown bread instead of white?  _ Georgi flounders for a second, mouth popping open and closed with little wet sounds that are deafening in his own ears before he manages to regain his composure.

“No.” A lie, but Viktor doesn’t need to know that. He’s attracted to beauty in all forms, more so soft curves than dramatic angles, but he knows how to admire a masterpiece when he sees one. 

It just so happens that he’s meeting eyes with one now. 

“Maybe you should,” Viktor lilts, not quite a purr, but he lowers his voice, his lashes, in a way that’s so sultry Georgi can’t help but flush a little. “I’ve always found the attention of another man far more… rewarding than that of a woman.”

Georgi hums, a soft little sound caught in the back of his throat that heightens when Viktor’s thumb gently brushes against his skin. This isn’t… this can’t be what he thinks is happening, right? “I don’t think-”

“Then don’t,” Viktor says, cutting him off with the same severity he shows invasive interviewers, but his eyes hold something other than sharpness. They’re wide, wistful, full of the same intensity Georgi sees reflected on the ice, but instead of being focused on skating, they’re focused on him. “Don’t think, Gosha.  _ Feel _ .”

Touch trailing, to his elbow, his forearm and then finally to the tight fist that’s Georgi’s hand, Viktor pries his fingers open and twines them with his, and Georgi  _ feels _ it. Warmth, beneath his skin, bleeding into his own, melting away the longing and loneliness that’s encased his heart. Viktor squeezes him, tugs him a little closer, and when Georgi glances up, he  _ sees _ it. Viktor’s icy charade chipping away, leaving him vulnerable and so visibly human.

There’s a smile on his face, a ghost of what he’d seen earlier, but so incredibly somber, and Georgi  _ knows _ . He knows Viktor feels it too, the sickness of solitude, even if it’s in a different, equally as bitter form. 

“I want to feel something, Georgi,” Viktor says, and there’s a hopelessness to his voice, to the way his nails dig into Georgi’s flesh, clinging to him. “Don’t you?”

Viktor’s chest is heaving, bare and beautiful. It’s impossible not to look at him, at the muscles that define his chest, his thighs, at his dick lying soft between them.  _ Gorgeous _ . Georgi wants to reach out, wants to know how it feels in his hand- and he catches himself, shakes his head a little at the thought. He’s never wanted- he’s never even  _ thought… _

But he is now. They’re both here, lost and lonely, longing for something,  _ anything, _ to take the edge away. If Georgi can find it in another man, in Viktor, then why should he deny himself?

“Yes,” he says finally, so close to Viktor’s lips, and he strokes silver hair away from his cheek. “I do.” 

Viktor’s the one who finally leans in to seal the kiss, surging forward and taking Georgi’s lips in a way no woman ever has. He finds he likes it, the strange power that Viktor has over him, the sure movement of his mouth against his own, the way he tugs insistently at Georgi’s hair to bring him closer, deeper, coaxing low groans of pleasure from his throat. A hand wanders to seek where Viktor’s started to press insistently against his hip, wrapping around his erection and stroking in a way that makes their lips part with a smack, a soft sigh fanning over Georgi’s chin.

“You’re good-” Viktor stutters, leaning back against the tiles. Georgi’s eyes are drawn to the column of his throat, the way it shifts as he swallows, steadying himself.“You’re good at that.”

“Yeah?” Georgi murmurs, confidence growing as his strokes grow surer. Just like the rest of him, Viktor has a pretty dick, flushed pink at the head from where it peeks out of its foreskin. Georgi watches, mesmerised, as his own fingers work, foreign as they seem when fisting another man’s dick. 

“Yeah,” Viktor breathes, thrusting slightly in Georgi’s grip, spreading the first few drops of precome over his palm. “God,  _ Gosha _ , it feels good.”

Georgi kisses at the flush in Viktor’s cheeks before meeting his lips again, swallowing every grunt and groan and feeling them fuel his own arousal. Almost tentatively, Viktor’s fingertips skim over Georgi’s abdomen, bury themselves in the curls of his pubic hair before finally grazing against his own erection. Shuddering against him, Georgi bites Viktor’s lip as his hand wraps around him, tugging slowly, experimentally, eliciting a moan from Georgi’s mouth. 

It’s not been a long time since he’s been touched, but it’s been an eternity since he’s been touched like this, gently, reverently, as if his pleasure is something sacred to treasure. Nothing is being rushed, there isn’t a race to find who can chase their orgasm the quickest, but instead a calm, a tenderness that can only be found in the quietest of encounters, and it’s unlike anything Georgi’s ever felt before.

“I want,” Viktor begins, stopping himself to press a sloppy kiss at the corner of Georgi’s mouth as he pants, “You to fuck me.”

“You do?” Georgi’s hand stills on Viktor’s dick, can feel as the action is mirrored on his own. “But I-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Viktor insists, and he’s sinking to the floor, pulling at Georgi’s knees and dragging him down with him. The tiles are wet and cold beneath his body, but wherever Viktor touches blooms with warmth, and it feels like he’s touching him  _ everywhere _ , his face, his neck, the small of his back. “I just want to feel you. I want to feel something.”

He sounds so desperate, kneeling on the floor before him. There’s a new light in his eyes that Georgi once might have called fervour, but Georgi knows now that it’s the fire of a last hope. 

“Okay, Vitya. Okay,” Georgi says, and Viktor tilts his head back as if thanking the heavens, lips moving silently as Georgi once again takes him in hand. It’s different, now that Georgi knows what lies at the end. Unsure, unsteady, the erratic beat of his nervous heart jumping through his skin and shaking his composure. Viktor says nothing, doesn’t do anything but rest his head against the wall as Georgi caresses him, hesitating just for a moment before he drags his lips over Viktor’s chest, taking the bud of a nipple between his lips.

“We’re similar, you and I,” Viktor murmurs, and it should be disconcerting having him preach to him during intimate acts like this, but Georgi likes how Viktor’s voice vibrates through his chest. “Both wanting something we can’t have. The same thing.”

_ Love _ . 

It’s all Georgi wants. He’s found it in the ice, cold and unchanging, a constant that can only ever hurt him if he allows it to. He craves it in the arms of another, in the warmth of someone’s skin, in fiery passion that threatens to burn him but equates the chill that the rink leaves behind. He’d thought he’d found it this time- and he’s had that same thought many times before, in the shape of women he’s fallen for who’ve held out their hands, only to snatch them away on the precipice of balance.  

_ Love _ .

It’s not what Viktor’s offering, not what Georgi is either, but instead there’s understanding, and it’s enough for now. 

“Touch me, Gosha,” Viktor begs, spreading his thighs and leading one of Georgi’s hands to the puckered skin of his entrance. He circles a finger around the rim, and Viktor pushes forwards, seeking it,  _ wanting _ it, and how Georgi loves feeling wanted. “Please.”

It’s harder, he supposes, to work Viktor open without lube. Viktor reaches above them and turns on the shower, the frigidness of the water emphasising the heat radiating from their bodies. And Viktor’s so hot inside, hot and tight in a way Georgi’s never felt before. He clenches around the one finger inside him, and then the two he manages to work inside, scissoring in the way Viktor tells him in the hushed instructions he gives between breathy moans.

“You don’t have to be gentle with me,” Viktor tells him as Georgi curls his fingers inside him. He trembles, a pretty pink scattering over his chest, so Georgi does it  _ again _ and  _ again _ and  _ again _ .  “ _ Yes _ .”

“Tell me what you want,” Georgi asks, dropping his head to Viktor’s shoulder and sucking at the pulse point at his neck. “I’ll give you anything.”

“That’s a quite the promise to make,” Viktor shudders out a laugh that hitches when Georgi curls into him again. “I doubt you can give me everything.”

“Ask.” Viktor’s touching him again, and Georgi feels alive, revitalised under his intimate attention. He waits, working a third finger inside whilst Viktor continues to tease and twist at the head of his dick, and Georgi’s almost convinced that he won’t ask for anything at all. 

“You,” Viktor says eventually, a whisper that’s almost drowned by the spill of water over their skin. “Just give me  _ you _ .”

Viktor moves so that he is straddling him, wrapping his elegant arms around Georgi’s shoulders. They kiss open mouthed and messy as Viktor grinds against him, and Georgi reaches down between them to wrap a hand around their leaking lengths, stroking them in time to Viktor’s thrusts.

“N-no,” Viktor stammers,  when his motions become jerky and his breath hitches in his throat. Startled, Georgi releases his hold on them and leans back, takes in the flush that’s ruddied his skin, the damp locks of hair sticking to his forehead. “In me. I want to feel you in me.”

Viktor’s hand returns to Georgi’s dick, strokes down once to the base and holds the shaft in position. His other hand braces against Georgi’s shoulder as he holds himself up, and when Georgi feels the first, hot brush of Viktor’s stretched rim he can’t help but shudder. It takes some time, lowering himself onto Georgi’s dick, but once Viktor bottoms out with a soft hiss, eyes scrunched closed and lip bitten red, he clenches around him in a way Georgi’s never experienced, white hot and impossibly tight. 

“Vitya,” Georgi gasps, fingers clawing into the muscles of Viktor’s shoulder. Viktor makes a sound that could pass as a laugh, but he’s rising up in Georgi’s lap and falling with the softest sound that brushes against his ear and raises hairs on the back of his neck. 

Once he gets over the impossible feeling of Viktor stretched around him, Georgi works a hand between them, fisting at the leaking dick that’s pressed between them. The rhythm they work out is delicious, and God, Georgi doesn’t know how long he’s going to be able to last listening to the slick sounds of sex echoing off tiled walls, the woosh of Viktor’s heavy breathing as he kisses,  _ bites _ , at his neck, each nip punctuated with a snap of his hips.

“Gosha,” Viktor stammers, and Georgi can feel him throbbing beneath his fingertips, and it only takes a few more strong strokes for him to be spilling over his knuckles, squeezing around Georgi and making the most beautiful sound of satiation in the back of his throat. Viktor continues to suck at Georgi’s throat, hands lazily roaming his chest, touching, teasing until Georgi’s hips falter too and he’s coming inside him, a strangled groan escaping his lips. 

It takes longer than normal to recover, Viktor’s hands tugging insistently at his hair the thing that finally brings him back to the present. When Georgi opens his eyes, he’s met with blue, sombre and oh so  _ sad _ . His body aches, muscles straining and legs numb from the hard floor, but it’s nothing in comparison to the way his heart feels, throbbing beneath his ribs.

And, looking up at Viktor, as the flush fading from his skin is replaced with the stony mask he so carefully wears, he knows that there’s a similar pain piercing his own chest.

“Are you-”

“Yes,” Viktor cuts him off stonily, pulling off of Georgi with a wince that breaks through his armour. “This didn’t happen, right?”

But it did. It  _ did _ happen, and Georgi can feel it in his veins, in the come that’s drying on his stomach and the scratches on his skin, the dull ache at his neck. It  _ did _ happen, and Georgi can’t decide if it’s wrong that he wants it to happen again.

Viktor stands and turns away, walking to the other end of the showers just to turn one on and step under the spray. It could be a figment of Georgi’s imagination, but he swears he can see his shoulders shudder. 

Which is fine, because when Viktor leaves, the traces of their moment of lust running down the drain, Georgi’s shoulders shudder too.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my favourite thing i've ever written, and it was for kings on ice! check them out on tumblr for more info!
> 
> honestly though, this piece just came so easy. not my normal pairing but it worked so well that i couldn't resist.
> 
> i wrote another piece, an angsty Minami centric. i'm not planning on posting it but if any of y'all here wanna see it i may reconsider! xD
> 
> find me here:
> 
> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> xoxo Cat


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